


Christmas Actually

by tropicalcap



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bucky Barnes could be a model, Bucky Barnes has a dog, Bucky doesn't like Christmas, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Modern Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, POV Bucky Barnes, POV Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Steve Rogers really likes Bucky Barnes, Steve is good at gifts, Thor and Bruce are basically mentioned, but he likes gifts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-09-23 13:45:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17081393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tropicalcap/pseuds/tropicalcap
Summary: The one where there's a company-wide Secret Santa going on at Stark Industries and Natasha makes sure Steve gets paired up accordingly.Or the "My best friend rigged the Secret Santa" fic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gr8escap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gr8escap/gifts).



> My first Stucky fic ever and I'm so excited!
> 
> This is my entry for the Captain America Secret Santa, a gift for the lovely [gr8escap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gr8escap). You asked for fluff and said you didn't mind AUs, so this is what my mind came up with after a RedBull binge.
> 
> Thank you to the lovely [Frost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostbitebakery) and my dear friend [Maggie](https://evanstarff.tumblr.com/) for betaing and cheerleading. This wouldn't exist without your help!
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated (and needed honestly, I live for validation).
> 
> Enjoy :) x
> 
> PS: I have never seen Love Actually, you can thank Maggie for the title.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning for overuse of italics.

There’s someone in Tony’s lab.

 

There’s an _attractive someone_ in Tony’s lab.

Steve has a hard time placing the dark head of hair bent over the work table in the middle of the lab, but when he gets a glimpse of the man’s face he realizes why that is— he would’ve _definitely_ remembered a face like this.

Dark brown hair hides strong cheekbones and a sharp jawline Steve just wants to spend his time tracing in his sketchbook. A pair of lips that look like they belong on those fashion magazines he always sees Natasha reading frame the man’s face perfectly, all plump and red.

The man lifts a pen to his mouth and bites it, those lips wrapping around it and… why is Steve in the lab again?

“Uh…” His mouth offers lamely, catching the attention of the beautiful stranger.

“Holy fuck,” says the man when he looks at Steve and _wow_ his eyes are pretty.

It seems like the man doesn’t register the words until after he’s said them, if the pink dusting his cheeks and spreading down his neck is anything to go by.

He looks pretty— Steve’s going to call him that now.

“Sorry,” Pretty apologizes, pushing himself away from the desk and smoothing a hand down his perfectly messy hair. “Tony should be back soon, he said you’d be coming around.”

Funny that Tony didn’t give _Steve_ a heads up that there would be a _fashion model_ in his lab.

“I’m, uh -” really, when will Steve’s brain ever work in his favor? “Steve Rogers.”

He outstretches a hand, which Pretty takes with a strong grip, and Steve just _feels_ his legs turning to jelly. The color on his cheeks looks even redder up close, though the scruff on his face makes Pretty look more rugged.

Steve’s going to need a name soon, though he’s not opposed to calling him Pretty forever. Mostly because, well, he _is_ pretty. Very much so.

“I’m James,” and _god_ even his _name_ is pretty. “It’s really nice to meet you, Cap-”

“Capsicle!” Tony has the best timing, really. “I see you’ve met my pride and joy— don’t tell Pepper.”

James drops his hand as soon as Tony and Bruce walk in, and Steve already misses it. He takes his previous position at the work table, joined by the two scientists tucked in two equally messy corners opposite where he’s sitting.

“So, Buckmeister, you’ve met the walking fossil?” Tony asks and, wait.

“Buckmeister?” Steve needs to find out more about nicknames this century.

Also, _walking fossil_?

“M’nickname’s Bucky,” James— _Bucky_ says, rolling his eyes. “Tony just loves finding ways of making it sound worse than it already is.”

“It’s not that bad,” Steve offers, biting his tongue from saying the next half of that sentence.

He was going to say that it’s cute, because it is. And it’s his nickname. And he has a cute face.

“Childhood nicknames are always bad,” Tony shrugs, grabbing Steve’s hand and leading him around the worktable as he speaks. “Should’ve seen what they called old musclehead over here, back when a breeze could blow him over.”

Steve glares at Tony because _rude_ , but then there’s the sound of somebody stifling laughter and he turns back to see the glorious picture of James trying to hide a smile.

“Anyway, Cap,” Tony continues, almost as if he can’t see the heart eyes Steve’s making at his protegé. “Buckweiser-” James and Bruce groan at that, and Steve feels for the kid, having to deal with this on a daily basis. “ _As I was saying_ — we’re working on some developments for your shield, need to weight test it.”

While Bruce and James actually work with him and his shield, Tony is talking his ear off. Steve can’t bring himself to be annoyed, because Tony’s talking about James – and Steve wants to know about James.

Steve learns that James just recently graduated from his master’s in Engineering at Cornell — “Almost with the same GPA I did,” Tony huffed. He got his bachelor’s degree in biomedical engineering, and Steve nearly has a heart attack when he learns James is _only_ twenty-five. Steve was _frozen_ when he was twenty-five.

Turns out James is new to the Stark Industries team, which is why Steve hadn’t been graced with the opportunity to lay eyes on his beautiful face until now. He’s working with Tony and Bruce on a line of prosthetic limbs using vibranium, something that hasn’t been done before since nobody knew about the metal’s existence until rather recently.

Steve also learns that James can dish out as well as he takes, especially when it comes to Tony— they banter as if they’ve known each other forever, nevermind that James is a good thirty-something years his junior.

He spends a lot more time in the lab than he’d like to admit, but only because he has nothing else to do. And maybe because James’ voice might be the most wonderful sound Steve’s heard in his entire life.

Eventually Tony shoos him out of the lab because _we actually have work to do_. Steve goes without protest, but doesn’t hesitate to make his goodbyes longer than they should be, complete with a hand on James’ shoulder before he leaves.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, James,” says Steve because he’s nothing if not a gentleman. His Ma would be proud.

“Call me Bucky,” the younger man smiles. “Hope to see you around.”

Steve spends the entire elevator ride back to his floor mouthing the word _Bucky_ over and over. Like a dumbass.

 

 

In the following weeks, and by total utter coincidence, Steve ends up in Tony’s lab more often than not.

Bucky’s always there — and Steve’s giddy, because he gets to call him _Bucky_ just like everyone else — and even though he can’t understand a quarter of the science words they use when he’s around, Steve’s just there to listen to him talk.

Not that that’s what he tells any of them, though. Absolutely not.

Steve’s always in the lab to check on the new shield— he goes twice to check if the weight’s correct (it is). He goes in one day because _someone_ changed his laptop password— Tony looked at him funny when he realized the password had been changed to _1234_. Thankfully Bruce wasn’t there and Bucky was on the other side of the work table, being his usual attractive self as he pored over prosthetic designs.

The last day he goes in, neither Tony or Bruce are there and Steve’s confidence wavers because what the hell is he going to do without his buffers? But then he catches Bucky’s eye and Bucky's smile and Steve swears his knees turn to jelly.  The bags under his eyes show him Bucky probably hasn’t slept in a few days. Steve realises he couldn’t care less about any goddamn buffers.

“Hey,” Bucky says, voice soft and tired, just like his smile. “Someone changed your password again?”

There goes Steve’s excuse of the day.

“Actually…” he’s going to regret this. “My phone, this time.”

Bucky quirks an eyebrow like he doesn’t believe him for a second, and Steve can feel the blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Have you tried _5678_?” Bucky asks and Steve wants to kiss that shit-eating grin off his face.

Steve averts his eyes and inwardly cringes at the laugh that escapes Bucky’s lips when he realizes what’s going on.

“C’mon,” Bucky waves him over. “Help me with this.”

Steve doesn’t help, because he’s not an engineer, but he does sit there and listen to Bucky talk science. Watching him speak is intoxicating, and Steve doesn’t understand a lick of anything that’s coming out of Bucky’s mouth, but he watches as he gets more and more into prosthetics and ranges of motion and alloy steel and _wow_ is he smart.

At one point, Bucky trails off. He’d been comparing titanium to vibranium — which Steve learns is not an alloy steel — and then suddenly goes quiet, biting his lip in a way that has Steve praying to all the gods out there.

“I’m probably boring you,” Bucky winces, dropping his gaze to the floor. "You can leave if you want, I'm sorry for keeping you and rambling."

And _no_. Steve doesn’t _want_ that.

“Please,” he hurriedly shakes his head, adjusting his position on the slightly uncomfortable stool and leaning on the worktable, all eyes on Bucky. “Keep going, it sounds really interesting.”

Bucky smiles at him, this small, shy thing, and Steve tries to hide one of his own. Of course, he fails, and then it’s just the both of them smiling at each other like idiots, until Bucky remembers what he was talking about and picks back up on why carbon fiber is not a good idea for any type of prosthetic.

They stay in the lab for hours, only leaving because Bucky gets a call from his roommate asking where he is and why he’s late.

“Shit,” Bucky groans, running a hand down his face after hanging up the call. “I forgot we were supposed to meet for drinks, and I still have to get some sketches from the design team. Scott’s gonna kill me.”

Steve grimaces in sympathy and helps him clean up the worktable. While packing up the many cables and weirdly-shaped pieces of metal, he hears Bucky singing something to himself. It’s too soft to catch, but it makes Steve smile nonetheless.

While waiting for the elevator, Bucky’s warm presence by his side, shoulders almost touching. Steve’s hands itch with the need to touch and see if he’s that way under the sweater and jacket he has on. If his blood runs hot by itself or if the layers of clothes are doing the work for him.

When the steel doors open, Steve silently thanks the universe that the elevator is empty. He hopes it stays that way.

“After you,” Steve motions for him to walk in first.

“Guess chivalry isn’t dead,” Bucky hums, looking up at Steve with a little smile. “It was just frozen for a few decades.”

Steve doesn’t say anything and curses Tony for installing all-mirror elevators in the Tower. He doesn’t need to see his red face staring back at him right now nor does he want Bucky to see.

Still, with so many reflective surfaces, Bucky definitely notices. Steve feels his eyes on him in the mirror, but when he turns to look, Bucky’s averted his gaze. A small smirk on his face remains.

Bucky hits a floor button that’s twenty stories below where Steve has to go back to his apartment, but he doesn’t say that. He’ll just ride down then up. He likes elevators anyway.

Steve hears the familiar notes of a Christmas jingle start playing once the elevator starts moving, followed by a loud sigh from Bucky.

“Not fond of Christmas?” He asks, looking at their reflections in the mirror in front of them.

“Definitely not,” Bucky shakes his head, chuckling humorlessly. “I’m not a Grinch— I like the presents and everything, but that’s just all it’s become lately.”

Steve nods in understanding, though he really can’t relate.

“Back in my day it was all about family,” Steve says thoughtfully watching the numbers in the screen above the button panel get closer to Bucky’s floor. “We ain’t have much, but we had each other.”

“Did you ever get presents?” Bucky asks, and Steve still won’t look at his face head-on. He’s fine with the mirror. Totally fine.

“When I wasn’t sick, yeah,” Steve smiles, thinking about those few Christmases his Ma scoured just enough to get him something _and_ get some food for a nice dinner. “Most years the money went to medicine to keep me going through winter.”

Steve remembers the cold, the incessant cough and wheezing; feeling like he was literally going to cough up a lung even in his sleep. Winters were miserable, and somehow he can still feel the dull ache in the middle of his back once the nights start getting colder and longer.

“Did you ever think you weren’t going to make it?”  Bucky asks again, quiet, but curious.

Steve can feel him looking at his profile, and he _really_ wants to look at him too, gaze into those gray-blue eyes that have haunted his thoughts since he first saw them. He simply drops his gaze to the ground though, leaning back against the railing and stuffing his hands into his front pockets.

It’s never easy to talk about the past, but Bucky asking like he wants to get to know Steve instead of _learning_ about him — and there’s a difference — makes the words flow out before he even thinks about it.

“Lotta times,” Steve nods. “But Ma made sure I was alright— she was a nurse. I never really wanted anythin’ else except us together.”

Sarah Rogers was one hell of a woman, and her will really came through whenever Steve’s pneumonia started acting up during the colder months. Not that it wasn’t always there, she just turned it up a notch whenever Steve was shivering so hard he looked like he was having a seizure.

She’d be there, hands and words warm, curling around Steve’s weak heart until he felt like he could breathe without fainting from the pain. Most nights they’d sleep in the same bed, his Ma wrapping her arms around him to contain the force of his coughs and spasms, her voice sweet and _so tired_ while she tried to calm him down when he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Steve misses her.

There’s a ping that interrupts _Jingle Bell Rock_ coming through the speakers when the elevator arrives at Bucky’s floor, and Steve’s heart plummets somewhere deep down in his belly when he realizes their conversation is over.

He looks at Bucky then, watching as the younger man hesitates to leave once the doors open.

“Well I’ve already made my list anyway,” Bucky says after a few moments, pushing off from the rail behind him. “I just hope Santa doesn’t think I was naughty this year.”

He says it with a smirk that’s just on the right side of suggestive, eyes locked on Steve’s.

Steve’s heart stutters in his chest, and he can feel the color blooming on his cheeks. He watches Bucky get an unfamiliar twinkle in his eye before he saunters out of the elevator, a spring in his step as he walks away, throwing a _“see you later, Steve!”_ over his shoulder before he disappears from view.

Steve tries not to think about the kid’s last statement on his way back to his floor.

Steve fails miserably.

 

 

“You’re staring.”

Steve knows he’s fucking staring. He doesn’t want people to call him out on it though. He thought he was being _discreet_ — apparently not.

He snaps his gaze from Bucky’s gorgeous face and ridiculously soft-looking hair. He looks like he just rolled out of bed— and he might as well, it’s only seven-thirty in the morning after all. He turns to look at Natasha next to him.

“Who is it?” Natasha asks, leaning back in her chair.

“Not the blonde,” Clint hums. “Doesn’t look like his type.”

“Redhead, maybe?” Sam chimes in. “Though she doesn’t look like your type either.”

Steve needs new friends.

He doesn’t even _have_ a type.

Well actually, he does. His type is someone that won’t make him get up at fuck-o’clock in the morning for a _company-wide_ meeting at a company _he doesn’t even work for_. Technically.

So that basically cancels out anyone that works in Stark Industries’ HR team.

“The brunette,” Natasha grins, and Steve _desperately_ needs new friends. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t let it show she’s hit it right on the nose, because that would mean dealing with incessant teasing from his entire group until they see him grab Bucky and kiss him silly right in front of them. It’d be the only way to have them finally shut up about his love life.

Not that Steve doesn’t love his friends— he’d die for them, and has probably come close a couple times, but he doesn’t appreciate the constant meddling into who he is — or _isn’t_ — getting intimate with.

Still, Natasha only leans further into his field of vision until all he can see are those knowing green eyes and that familiar auburn hairline. The way Steve averts his eyes absolutely gives him away, and he momentarily considers jumping out of the window when she shoots up from her seat and _starts walking_ _towards Bucky_.

It’s only about seventy floors up. He could jump and get out alive.

Steve watches with bated breath as Natasha walks closer to where Bucky’s standing talking to two of his friends, only for her to change course just as she’s within touching distance of the kid. She turns left then, walking out of the conference room where the team and a few staff are gathered for a meeting that is _fifteen minutes overdue to start_.

Steve is very punctual. He also likes to take a nap after his five AM runs.

_He also doesn’t work for Stark Industries so what the hell is he doing here?_

Then Janice and some other guy from HR walks into the conference room, Natasha in tow. The latter mysteriously looks from Bucky to Steve and back, before taking her seat next to him.

Steve quirks an eyebrow at her but she doesn’t give anything up, which shouldn’t surprise him because it’s Natasha.

While Janice and Paul? — Jeremy? Christopher? Steve’s bad with corporate-appropriate names — from HR set up their presentation at the front of the room, Steve busies himself with watching Bucky telling something to Bruce and Tony on the other side of the rectangular conference table.

Bucky speaks to them for a few more seconds before being dismissed. His gaze sweeps around the room before it lands on Steve, and the kid gives him a sweet smile before waving almost imperceptibly and walking out the door.

Steve knows he’s staring after him like a lovesick puppy, but it’s not his fault.

Steve likes looking at nice things, and Bucky Barnes is A Nice Thing.

Just then, Jeremy? from HR claps his hands once and _wow_ that’s not an obnoxious move _at all_.

“Good morning everyone,” he calls out, being met with half-assed replies of the same.

Blame them for being superheroes, but The Avengers aren’t a very energetic bunch unless faced with immediate, life-threatening danger— for them or civilians.

“Thank you for joining us today,” Janice from HR says from behind her extremely expensive laptop that she uses to make half-ass presentations like the one she’s pulled up on the screen. “We know you all have some world-saving duties to attend to, so we won’t keep you too long.”

She chuckles at the end of the statement, and so does Arthur? from HR, but Steve takes one look around the conference table and finds his teammates much in the same fashion as him— barely paying attention.

Sam and Clint have started a game of paper football across the glass table, which Janice and Lucas? from HR are pointedly ignoring as they start with their presentation.

Steve tries to pay attention, he really does. But then he sees Bruce nod off for the third time within the first five minutes of Janice talking, and Thor’s asking some “dumb God” questions that everyone knows are just a way to see how fast he can frustrate the presenters— _How big is a medium-sized company? Does the workers’ healthcare cover draugr attacks?_

Sam and Clint are still flicking the paper footballs at each other — where did they even find it? Stark doesn’t use paper for anything —  and Natasha and Tony are the only ones paying attention to whatever graph Alexander? from HR is presenting at the moment, so Steve tunes out.

His mind drifts to Bucky, naturally.

Bucky, and his gray eyes and long hair and full lips. Bucky, and his brilliant mind and goal-driven personality, who Steve will sit and listen to for _hours_ while he talks about science. Bucky, and the twinkle he gets in those gorgeous eyes when he talks about science.

The conversation in the elevator gave Steve a glimpse of what the kid is like behind closed doors— and Steve really needs to stop calling him _kid_. They’re basically the same age, if nobody gets into the technicalities of time and space.

Bucky behind closed doors is witty, has a sharp tongue and doesn’t hesitate to dish out as much as he’s given. Steve already knew this from going into the lab too many times and seeing him and Tony drive Bruce crazy with their lovely quips about one another’s hair and facial hair preferences— Steve is particularly fond of that time Bucky called Tony _goat man”_ and Tony had to step out of the lab for a minute.

But with _Steve_ , it hadn’t come out until that day in the elevator. He hasn’t been able to go down to the lab as much as he’d like to anymore— mostly because he doesn’t have an excuse to be there. His new shield sits safe, sound and perfectly weight-balanced in his closet, and Tony makes sure to call him every night to ask if any other hackers have tried to get into his phone or computer that day.

So Steve’s only gotten glimpses of Bucky the past few days – being the closest to him just before the meeting started, when he was all the way on the other side of the table. He needs to change that somehow.

He’ll ask Clint to shoot an arrow through his laptop screen and demand to get it fixed instead of buying a new one. That’ll get him three days of Bucky-lab time at least. It’ll get him the same amount of Tony-lab time though, and Steve may not be arrhythmic anymore, but he’s not sure his heart can take it.

“JARVIS will get back to you with your assignments in two days’ time,” says Janice from HR when Steve tunes in again, the presentation over. “William here will answer any questions you might have about the exchange.”

 _Ah,_ Steve thinks. _William_.

Also, exchange of what?

“Uh…” Steve really needs to keep his sounds inside when he’s not planning on _actually asking a question_. “Exchange of what?”

Steven Grant Rogers, emblem of everything good in America, doesn’t listen to people giving him presentations.

“There will be a company-wide gift exchange happening this year,” says William from HR. “Both the Stark Industries and Avengers’ public relations teams decided it would be a good idea to include you all in it as well.”

 _Ah,_ Steve thinks again. _Not from HR then_.

Sometimes he gets his corporate lingo mixed up – sue him.

“Don’t you have like five-hundred employees?” Steve asks Tony, who looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

" _Pepper_ has five-hundred employees,” Tony clarifies, and yeah, Steve made a mistake— he hasn’t had his morning nap. “JARVIS randomly assigning people makes it easier to do, he already has the company roster, and we’re just six more people he also has in his database.”

Steve still isn’t convinced, and Janice from PR can tell.

“Captain Rogers,” she says, black heels clicking on the linoleum as she walks around the room while she speaks. “This is an opportunity for civilians to see none of you are the threat the media has made you. It humanizes you.” She looks at Thor and Bruce for that one. “Plus, you already see a lot of SI employees on a daily basis running around the building – it would be a good idea to interact with them.”

Steve’s still not one-hundred percent convinced that it’ll work – much less that a _gift exchange_ will humanize them when they’re basically considered weapons of mass destruction. Seriously, you cast lightning on the Chrysler building _one time_ to wipe out aliens, and suddenly you’re the bad guy.

“It’ll be fun, man,” says Sam, making a goal post with his fingers as Clint flicks the paper triangle towards him. It ends up going more left than middle, and Sam jumps from his chair with a triumphant yell while Clint makes use of every swear word he has in his mind.

Sam ends up winning five-one, and Steve spends more time thinking about his potential giftee and who it could be in a sea of four-hundred-and-ninety-nine faces.

 

Two days later, Steve gets his giftee assignment.

His legs carry him down to Natasha’s floor before he’s registered it. He bursts out of the elevator and into her kitchen, finding the familiar head of red hair standing next to the coffee machine, one blue mug and one green in front of her on the counter.

“I take it you got your assignment?” She turns around after pouring coffee in both mugs, handing Steve the blue one. Nothing in her face gives away that she knows whose name is next to Steve’s in JARVIS’ gift-assignment database, but Steve’s not stupid.

He still takes the coffee, because _Steve’s not stupid_. It’s free coffee, even if it comes from a machine.

“Did you have something to do with this?” He grimaces at the taste of the drink. Seriously, _coffee machines_. More like dirt machines. “Actually, don’t answer— I _know_ you did this.”

Natasha looks at him over the rim of her mug and shrugs, but says absolutely nothing else.

“Nat, c’mon,” Steve is not above whining, especially if it’s to get him out of a potentially embarrassing situation. “He doesn’t even like Christmas!”

Natasha quirks an eyebrow. “And how do you know that?”

“We were in the elevator together a few days ago,” Steve explains, downing the rest of the scalding liquid in one gulp. Machine coffee is a disgrace and he likes to get it over with as soon as possible. “He said he doesn’t really care for the holiday.”

“More the reason for you to give him a gift then, show him it’s not that bad.” Natasha shrugs, walking over to her pantry and taking out waffle mix and syrup. “Are you staying for breakfast?”

Steve doesn’t say anything as she sets about getting out her waffle maker and a bowl to mix the batter in. When she’s three waffles down and a dozen more to go — she knows he’s staying for breakfast — he finds his voice again.

“Won’t it be weird?” Steve asks quietly, because that’s mostly his hang-up on the whole thing. “I’ve been around him a lot lately, and then suddenly I have him as my Secret Santa?”

Steve had heard the concept from William from PR’s mouth two days ago and has made it part of his vocabulary now.

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Natasha scolds, hands on her hips and giving him her best mom-stare. She’s almost better than Steve at the disappointed-parent-stare, too. “First of all, it was a _completely random process_ — you got him, but he got someone else, I made sure of that. Second, what’s a better opportunity to get to know him better than finding out his likes to get him a present?”

“So you admit you did this?” Steve asks, because it’s so much easier to ignore her — very relevant — second point.

Natasha levels him with a look, then pours some more batter in the waffle maker.

“All I’m saying is, he was looking at you just as much before the meeting,” Natasha shrugs, turning back to face Steve where he’s perched on the island. “You didn’t notice because you were too busy staring like a creep. He was being subtle at least.”

Steve tries not to feel offended, but he also knows he’s terrible at being subtle.

He also tries not to let Natasha’s words get too deep, even though he knows exactly what they might mean. _Might_ , because he’s not getting ahead of himself. That never ends well.

Steve, again, keeps quiet while he watches Natasha putter around the kitchen. She finishes making a tall stack of waffles for the both of them, bringing them to the counter while he sets about getting plates and utensils.

They sit down and eat in silence, their forks and knives scraping the porcelain plates the only sounds in the room. Steve’s frowning at his food and Natasha must notice, because halfway into his stack of waffles she nudges his feet with one of her own, hooking their ankles together.

That makes Steve look up from his plate. Nat’s face is open and questioning, almost as if she’s silently asking why he sabotages his own happiness.

“Let yourself have this, Steve,” Natasha’s voice is soft, lips shiny with the syrup she downed her waffles in. “If talking to him makes you happy, you can at least be his friend. Nobody’s saying it has to go further than that.”

Steve meets her eyes, finding that small amount of compassion she reserves for those closest to her— the kind that Steve’s so grateful to have in a world he’s not sure who he can trust.

“What if I want it to?” He asks, quiet yet hopeful.

“Then all that matters is that he says yes,” Natasha smiles at him. “He probably will anyway, but get him something nice anyway— he might fall in love with you.”

Steve _does_ like the sound of that, no matter how much it scares him.

And so Steve’s hunt to find Bucky Barnes a present begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know your thoughts, guys! The next part should be up next week. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve scrambles for a gift and Bucky tries to get to know his Secret Santa by ways of a third person. It works better than either of them originally thought it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so very sorry this took so long, I overestimated the amount of time I'd have during vacation in a foreign country and my accessibility to a laptop! We're ways away from Christmas already but there's nothing wrong with entering the new year with a bit of holiday spirit. Hope you guys like this, and let me know your thoughts! :) x

“What if I got him reflective tape?” Bucky says into the receiver. “For when he wants to fly at night— people can see his wings?”

Rebecca just laughs.

“I thought you’d grow out of your terrible gift-giving phase,” she giggles, and Bucky’s heart aches with how much he misses her.

Studying out of state had been his idea in the beginning, and he thought she’d refuse — she’d never been able to stay away from home for long anyway — but Rebecca Barnes is in her sophomore year of college in Washington and she’s not even coming home for Christmas this year. It hurts a little bit more than he’d like to admit, but she sounds happy, and that’s all Bucky cares about.

He just wishes she were here to help him pick out a Secret Santa gift for none other than Samuel Wilson.

“Becca,” Bucky whines into the receiver. “I can’t show up with a shitty gift! He’s an _Avenger_ , his standards are probably through the roof.”

Bucky sucks at giving presents, especially when he doesn’t know the person well. While he has met the rest of the team, his interactions with Tony, Bruce and Steve have been the most memorable, mostly because he sees them almost every day. He hasn’t talked to Sam long, or often enough to know what he’d want as a present.

This would be so much easier if Steve were his Secret Santa.

Steve, with his ridiculously gorgeous face and biceps that could probably bench press Bucky’s body weight without even breaking a sweat. Steve, with those dumb blue eyes that have taken hold of Bucky’s mind for the past few weeks. Steve, with that boyish smile that makes him look eons younger— the one that makes Bucky’s stomach do weird little flips when it’s directed at him.

Bucky Barnes has never been one to believe in love at first sight, but he sure as hell believes in extreme infatuation at first glance— there’s logic in his reasoning, absolutely. But honestly, who wouldn’t make that a thing when Steve _fucking_ Rogers shows up at your workplace?

Rebecca is still talking to him when he starts getting carried away with his thoughts. He thinks back to that day Steve showed up at the lab— when Bucky was working on the forearm element of the prototype, the one he’s meant to present by the end of January and preferred to incinerate himself instead of dealing with that many bones and that many tendons. He’d wanted to appear cool, nonchalant, like run-ins with literal superheroes were a common thing. Instead, he went and opened his big, dumb mouth and said an expletive in front of a man that’s portrayed as _the_ icon for children and purity and Everything Good in America.

Though as the days went on, Bucky began to realize Captain Rogers and _Steve_ were two completely different people.

Whereas Captain Rogers is calm, cool and collected, Steve is a bit awkward and fumbles over his words even at the best of times. Where one is stone-faced and calculated in his movements, the other laughs at punny jokes and trips on air while walking on linoleum flooring. Bucky can’t help but think that very few people know Steve Rogers, and he’s not particularly jealous of them.

“Bucky, you there?” Rebecca’s voice cuts through the Steve-branded fog in his mind and he realizes he spaced out for almost three minutes. Oops.

“Yeah, sorry,” he clears his throat. “What were you saying?”

“Ask Tony or Bruce about Sam,” Rebecca repeats, followed by some shuffling on her end of the call. She’s probably in bed, much like Bucky. “Don’t make it too obvious or you’ll give it away.”

Rebecca always has great ideas, but this time, Bucky has a better one.

He’ll ask _Steve_ about Sam— the two are basically attached at the hip anyway, so it’ll be easy. Easier than asking his bosses about one of their teammates in their superhero squad,especially when one of those said bosses hates talking about his superpower and considers it a burden more than anything.

(Now that Bucky thinks about it, Steve is also kind of sort of _mostly_ his boss too. He tries not to think _too_ much about it and the kinds of fantasies a badly-typed search result might bring forth when searching for Christmas presents. He should stay off Google.)

“That’s a good idea,” he tells Rebecca, just imagining the little eyebrow raise she does as if to say _well, duh_. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Don’t forget to send me pictures of the tree at the Tower,” she reminds him. “And kiss Argo for me, tell him he’s a good boy.”

Bucky looks at the lump of Siberian Husky next to his bed, breathing deeply in slumber. He doesn’t have to think about gifts or Christmas. He can just eat, sleep and be happy.

Bucky’s wishes he was a dog.

“I will,” Bucky smiles, leaning over to run his hand through Argo’s fur. “Miss you, Becs.”

He can imagine the sad smile on Rebecca’s face when she returns the sentiment. The same one she had when she finished packing up her car and drove away that first time. It’s always hard during the holidays, but he takes comfort in the fact that they still talk regularly. He still misses her dearly.

Bucky goes to sleep that night determined and eager. He has another reason to talk to Steve now, even if it’s to ask about something he’s not particularly excited about. Christmas, gifts— Christmas and gifts.

Sure, he doesn’t really like Christmas, but he’ll be damned if Sam doesn’t end up with the best present in the whole exchange.

“I’m going to blow them all out of the water,” he whispers to Argo, who yawns in agreement— or indifference; it’s hard to say.

Bucky falls asleep and dreams of kissing a star-spangled man under the first snow of Christmas.

 

 

Bucky doesn’t ask the next day. Or the next. In fact, it’s a whole four days before he sees Steve again, the blonde man walking into the lab with his hands full with food.

_Perfect timing_ , Bucky thinks. His stomach has been growling for the past forty-five minutes, unhappy and probably digesting itself at this point, all because Bucky promised Stark he’d have the last calculations of the prototype ready by the end of the day.

It’s three in the afternoon and he’s nowhere near finished. He’s also going cross-eyed due to hunger, the numbers looking more like a foreign language with every second that passes. So, really, Steve arriving with smelly, greasy chinese and a pastry box in his hands couldn’t have come at a better time.

They move most of the wiring and blueprints and scribbled paper out of the way to make room for the food, and Bucky has to catch himself from drooling at the sight of Kung Pao chicken and fried rice and _oh my god he got spring rolls_.

Bucky considers marriage for a brief second.

Eating in relative silence, he makes note of the copious amounts of food Steve eats. He watches him help himself to two, three, _four_ servings of fried rice, eating an entire container of chicken _and_ pork, and buying a serving of spring rolls for himself, leaving Bucky to eat only two out of the five the other serving has. He knows Steve eats more than a normal human but he still feels just a little bit sick by the end of it, watching the empty containers pile up on Steve’s side of the worktable.

“Not that I don’t love free food,” Bucky yawns around the words, slowly sliding from his stool to the floor and closing his eyes with a deep sigh after he lies down. There’s too much food in his system and not enough blood in his limbs to keep himself sitting upright. “But this was probably a bad idea.”

They finished eating just a few minutes ago and he’s still trying to find the right way from up and down. While Steve looks fine and dandy, downing a water bottle in just a few gulps, sitting pretty and totally unsupported in his stool, Bucky’s trying to figure out just how much blood rushes from his brain down to his stomach during digestion. He’s not going to be able to work for at least an hour.

“Don’t have room left for dessert, then?” Steve asks, reaching over to open the pastry box and tip it in Bucky’s direction.

The day Bucky Barnes says no to dessert just assume he’s dead.

The blue box holds six perfectly frosted brownie squares, and Bucky reaches a hand up to take one when Steve sits on the floor next to his sluggish body, offering the open box.

“Ugh,” Bucky makes a face after getting a whiff of something mixed with the chocolate. “Peppermint.”

Steve looks at him surprised and maybe a little bit disappointed, and Bucky’s never felt any more apologetic than this moment.

“You don’t like it?” And honestly, is that a _pout_ on Steve’s face?

Bucky makes another face. “I just don’t get why everyone decided _peppermint_ is the Christmas flavor,” he shrugs. “What’s wrong with caramel? Or vanilla? Anything peppermint just tastes like toothpaste.”

Steve shrugs, plucking the uneaten chocolate square from his fingers and taking it down in one bite. Bucky tries not to think about how wide Steve’s mouth opens. He tries.

“I’ll keep it in mind for next time,” Steve says, and Bucky’s brain short-circuits for just a moment.

_Next time?_

He doesn’t dwell on it too much because blood is finally making its way back to his brain, and he remembers he has a mission to accomplish.

“How’s Sam?” He blurts out, internally wincing because _wow_. They’ve never touched on Steve’s friends-slash-superhero-teammates, and here he is, bringing one of them up out of nowhere. He doesn’t let his cringe show, but he does keep his eyes trained on Steve.

The man eyes him warily, shifts a bit uncomfortable. Bucky watches him wring his hands together in his lap for a second, then not look at him when he answers.

“He’s good,” Steve says, still looking at his hands. “We went for a run this morning, and I’m gonna see him later. Why d’you ask?”

“Just wanted to know,” Bucky shrugs, all faux-nonchalance. He closes his eyes and wills his body to _not_ send blood up to his cheeks— he’s pretty sure he still needs to keep digesting his food. His cheeks are fine being pale and not pink, thanks. “Don’t see him around much.”

They don’t talk about Sam for the rest of Steve’s visit, one Bucky has to cut short because he still has work to do and he’s on a deadline. He really can’t afford to lose any more time being distracted by a big, blonde slice of beefcake with pretty eyes and a kind smile.

Only that big, blonde slice of beefcake keeps coming back into his lab for the next few days.

He doesn’t bring food again, and Bucky’s just a little bit thankful because he can at least _try_ to focus on what he’s supposed to be doing. But he stays for _hours_ , just watching him work and curse when he fries a circuit board or his calculations end up making absolutely no sense and he has to do them again.

He feels a bit self-conscious when Steve catches him mouthing along to disco music — it’s the only playlist he’s allowed to have on when Tony and Bruce are in the lab — and he considers setting himself on fire when Steve barges in while Bucky’s rapping aloud to Ice Cube one afternoon he’s working alone.

Steve watches him rap expletives for a good thirty seconds before he decides to make his presence known, and Bucky lets out a squeak that will forever haunt his memories before turning around, eyes wide and pink high on his cheeks.

“You listen to that often?” Steve asks leaning against the doorframe. He looks entirely too amused at Bucky’s whole face going red.

“Not particularly,” Bucky mumbles, and really, he’s never known mortification like this before. “I don’t really like West Coast hip hop.”

Steve doesn’t ask what it is and Bucky doesn’t offer to explain, but he does catch the other man write it down on a small notebook at one point in the afternoon. Bucky averts his eyes when Steve looks up at him, and that’s that.

In the end, there’s only two weeks left before he has to send out his Secret Santa gift and he’s not even close to knowing anything about Sam.

It’s not because he hasn’t tried — because he really has — but Steve just gets this _look_ on his face whenever Bucky tries to bring up his friend that he just resigns himself to giving up just so he doesn’t have to see Steve furrow his brows and bite his lip like that— like he’s uncertain.

It makes something uneasy unravel in his chest and he doesn’t want Steve to look like that, nor does he want him to think he’s trying to get with his best friend— which is what it _looks_ like he’s thinking. So he just stops asking.

So far, Sam’s definitely getting that reflective tape.

 

 

Up to this point, Steve knows that Bucky loves science, robotics, biochemistry and music from the eighties. He has listened to entirely too much Irene Cara and Cyndi Lauper and maybe a bit of Toto the last few days— Clint caught him singing _What A Feeling_ while making breakfast this morning, but thankfully didn’t say anything more than _nice_ and took a full coffee pot back to his room.

Steve also knows that Bucky hates peppermint, West Coast hip hop — he’s not looking that up; he’s heard East Coast hip hop and that’s entirely too much for him — and he hates Christmas music. Steve saw it first hand when Tony started singing some jingle under his breath in the lab yesterday. Bucky gripped a screwdriver a little too hard and jammed it a bit _too_ threateningly and too close to Tony’s face, telling him to knock it off.

(Tony did, but then JARVIS started playing the song, and Bucky can’t physically threaten an AI, so he stayed quiet. Steve is starting to think Bucky _is_ a Grinch.)

(He saw the movie.)

Another thing that Bucky likes, apparently, is Sam.

The first few times he mentioned him, or tried to sway the conversation that way, Steve brushed it off. He’s used to people wanting to learn more about his friends than himself — that’s basically what his life was back in his youth — but he did think Bucky was different.

Not that Bucky’s brushing off anything Steve says or is paying any less attention to him, but it does ruffle Steve’s feathers and makes him a little embarrassed at how jealous he is.

(Jealous? No, Steve isn’t jealous – just annoyed. Annoyed that Bucky won’t stop talking about Sam. Yeah.)

When he brings it up to Sam, he looks just as confused as Steve feels.

“I don’t know man,” Sam shrugs. “I’ve never even talked to the kid.”

And really, that’s what’s weird about this whole situation. Steve’s been talking to Bucky for going on almost two months now, and he’s making an effort to know him — Secret Santa gift aside — so why is he more interested in _Sam_ of all people?

(Sam is a wonderful, amazing human being, but Steve has a crush and he’d like his feelings to be reciprocated, please and thank you.)

So, what does Steve Rogers do?

“Bucky got him for the Secret Santa,” Natasha huffs, easily evading a punch from Steve and wrapping her thighs around his neck before bringing him down in a swift turn. “He likes _you_ , dumbass.”

“How do you even know these things?” Steve grunts from his place on the mats.

Maybe questioning Natasha’s knowledge isn’t a good idea when her thighs can cut off his breathing with a quick flex of muscle, but Steve’s not known for being very smart most of the time.

“I just do,” she shrugs, unlatching her hold after two taps of Steve’s fist on the mat.

Natasha backs off and sits next to him, chest puffing with heaving breaths. She’s drenched in sweat, gray t-shirt sticking to her back and under her arms, stray hairs escaping her ponytail and face gone red with exertion. Even through all this, Steve can’t help but think that she looks put together in a way, and really, it’s unfair.

“He’s trying to find out what to give him,” she says, watching him roll onto his side before he sits up. She always does a number on him. “He doesn’t want to date him.”

Natasha gives him a weird look, one Steve’s come to know entirely too well over the years they’ve known each other. It’s the one that he associates to concern coming from her, at least as much as she’s willing to show. It’s not a lot.

“Why are you overthinking this?” She asks, voice cautious and curious at the same time.

Steve looks around the gym, desolate save for the two of them so early in the morning. They really should sleep more.

He’s not overthinking this per se— he’s just not that great with people. Especially attractive ones that he’s very much interested in and that he thinks might reciprocate his feelings, if only a little bit. Steve doesn’t want to mess this up, and he knows, being Steve Rogers, there’s a few ways that he actually could.

Bucky asking about Sam threw him off, and there hasn’t been much development in the gift department either. All he knows about Bucky are random tidbits that still don’t complete a full picture, and Steve’s running out of time to find a good present.

“Try and get him out of the Tower,” Natasha says during another break later on. “A change in environment might get him talking about himself.”

Natasha always has good ideas. Steve just needs to find a way to get it to happen.

 

 

Going to work on a day off is never fun, but Bucky’s perspective is changing. Or it will completely if all the days off he has to go into work end up with him and Steve taking Argo on a walk together.

He’d come into the Tower on his way home from taking Argo to the vet, the Husky bundled up in a sweater he got for his second birthday. He had to pick up some designs he originally thought were in the lab, but turned out to be at home all along. Bucky’s not sleeping much, he’s forgetting things.

On his way out, he runs into none other than Steve Rogers, also going down to the ground floor. The blonde man greets him with that smile that makes Bucky swoon, the expression only brightening when his eyes trail down to the ball of fur and sweater sitting attentively at his feet.

“Who’s this?” Steve asks, bending down to pet Argo.

Argo, never one to back down from free pets and cute guys giving him attention — and really, Bucky’s starting to see the similarities Becca always points out — wags his tail and barks happily in the elevator. He offers his head to be petted, making happy noises at the back of his throat when Steve runs his hands through his mane.

Bucky wishes he could relate.

“This is Argo,” he grins, watching the impossibly cute image that is Steve Rogers cooing at a dog. “We were just on our way out.”

Steve and Argo are still making heart eyes at each other— and Bucky _can_ relate this time. He looks up, those sky blue eyes curious and questioning.

“Goin’ home?” Steve’s taken to scratching the back of Argo’s head now, the furball pushing his head further into the touch. Steve’s smile melts Bucky’s heart and honestly, he doesn’t _have_ to go home right away.

“Actually, we’re going for a walk,” Bucky has the best ideas sometimes, really. “Care to join?”

Steve tries to hide his surprise behind a smile but Bucky notices anyway. He _really_ has the best ideas sometimes.

 

“What would you do, if you weren’t at SI?” Steve asks later. They’re enveloped in warmth, hazy orange light coming from above the exposed light bulb above their table in this small, hipster-y place Steve dragged them into just a few minutes ago.

_They serve the best coffee, Buck_ , Steve had said before he grabbed Bucky’s hand and took him inside, Argo immediately being drawn to a small display case by the register full of dog treats. Bucky tried not to swoon at the nickname of his nickname. He also tried not to swoon at Steve buying him a hot chocolate and a muffin without even asking— this time, no peppermint in either of the treats.

(And honestly, if they serve _the best coffee_ , shouldn’t Steve be buying the coffee? Whatever, Bucky’s not going to look at a gift horse in the mouth, or however the hell the saying goes.)

Which brings them up to now, sitting tucked away and quiet in a corner of the coffee shop, Argo lying content by their feet. They’ve been sipping on their drinks for a few minutes, silently picking off bits of their muffins while looking around the place, all exposed brick and quirky wall art.

“I really like photography,” Bucky says after a while, picking off the muffin liner. “Though I’m pretty sure you already noticed, with how many times I made you stop on the way here.”

Steve _had_ noticed.

They’d walked aimlessly for a while, burrowing into their jackets and walking a bit too close together to seek warmth, though nobody’s complaining. New York winters are no joke, and even if it isn’t snowing yet, the sharp bite of the cold is not to be messed with.

Bucky had been warm and giggly by his side, watching Argo make pup friends as they kept walking, listening to Steve point out places that used to be completely different _back in his day_. A few grandpa jokes were made and accepted, and Bucky had stopped more times than Steve could count to get pictures of a building angled a certain way or Argo’s fur colored in the faint sunlight.

Steve watched him take his time setting up his phone camera, squint at the screen and snap dozens of pictures in one go. He’d apologized every time he made them stop, but Steve didn’t need them— he was just happy to watch Bucky reveal another part of himself to him, one that would help him figure out just _who_ is this person that he’s so drawn to.

“You’d be good at it,” Steve hums. He watches Bucky try to hide a grin on the next bite out of his muffin, and feels like making him smile is the only thing he wants to do for the rest of his life.

It’s there, in a tiny hipster cafe surrounded by the wonderful smell of coffee and chocolate, sitting in front of — probably — the most beautiful person Steve Rogers has ever seen, that he gets an idea for a present.

He offers to walk Bucky home after their muffins are no more and the hot chocolate settles warm in their bellies. They walk in silence, listening to Argo’s paws make contact with the concrete, the red leash in Bucky’s hand making sure he doesn’t walk too far away.

Once they reach Bucky’s doorstep, Steve realizes he really doesn’t want the afternoon to end. So, of course, he settles for playing with Argo as an excuse to keep Bucky outside.

“I had fun,” Bucky grins, watching the other man entertain Argo for a little longer.

“Me too,” says Steve, standing upright, sensing that the other man probably wants to get out of the frigid cold. “We should do it again sometime.”

“I’d like that,” and Bucky’s already planning their next not-date. “We can set it up next time you come bring me food at the lab.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, smile sweet and flirty. “Or, you could give me your number?”

 

Bucky gets a text later that night while on his latest Netflix binge. He’s not expecting it, and this episode of _Black Mirror_ is a bit too creepy for his taste, so he jumps when his phone buzzes on his bedside table.

He holds his breath when he sees the familiar name on the screen, an American flag emoji next to it.

 

_Get him binoculars. He likes bird watching._

_SR_

 

Steve signs off his texts with his initials, and Bucky’s never seen anything cuter. Also, Steve knows who his Secret Santa is. Shit.

(But also, Bucky has his present— _score!_ )

 

**_I now have to swear you to secrecy._ **

_Secret’s safe with me. Goodnight, Bucky._

_SR_

**_Goodnight, Steve._ **

 

He debates for five minutes on whether or not adding an emoji to his message is too much, then decides it most probably _is_ too much and sends it like that.

He just wishes he could be saying it in person, maybe lying next to Steve.

 

 

When the Secret Santa gifts start rolling in, Bucky tries not to feel disappointed that he doesn’t get his right away.

Keyword: _tries_.

The HR department organized the exchange so the gifts go out throughout the week, instead of having a gigantic clusterfuck of presents and employees trying to gift each other in just one day. It works well enough, only that Bucky’s ready to pull his hair out on the third day without a present materialising in front of him.

Tony’s came in on the first day— people don’t like to keep the boss waiting. A bottle of _Dom Perignon_ champagne that costs a quarter of Bucky’s entire college career appeared on the worktable that morning. Bucky’s almost ninety-nine percent sure he was Pepper’s Secret Santa, or maybe someone got _very_ lucky with their employee bonus this year.

Bruce got a box of stress-relieving toys. Aside from the plushy stress ball, Bucky fell in love with the magnetic dinosaur sculpture Bruce unboxed. They were both too busy stacking them together and creating their own works of art to pay attention to work, but Tony’s in a Christmas-y mood and doesn’t really berate them for it.

Even Steve’s present came in, just a few minutes ago.

Since their little not-date – as Bucky’s brain has called it so as to not attach any sort of expectations to the memory – they’ve been talking nonstop. Steve mentioned he’d much rather hear Bucky’s voice — and he said _Bucky’s_ not _someone’s_ — instead of imagining his voice in text after text after text.

Bucky heard the voice part and his heart did a little somersault, so he called Steve pretty much the moment it was not creepy or suspicious to do so (the second day after they started texting in case you were wondering). A week and a half later, they graduated to Facetime calls and Bucky decided yes – calling Steve was much, _much_ better than texting.

“Is there any reason your gift came to the lab?” Bucky asks, flipping the camera so Steve can see the medium-sized box on the worktable.

Among the wires and fiberglass and Vibranium, the red and green of the wrapping paper stands out like a sore thumb. It brings life to the lab, the colors a welcome change from the sleek metal and glass panels and white walls. Bucky might not like Christmas, but he can appreciate a well-wrapped present.

“I told JARVIS to send it there,” Steve yawns, having just woken up by Bucky calling him. “I’ll swing by in a few to pick it up.”

Bucky refuses to feel bad about waking Steve up. Mostly because a just-woken-up Steve Rogers looks like every wet dream Bucky ever had as an awkward preteen experiencing his sexual awakening— bleary eyes, ruffled blonde hair sticking every which way, cheeks pink and marked with the creases of the sheets.

(Also, Steve sleeps shirtless.)

“Hurry up,” Bucky sing-songs, walking closer to the present. He starts to pick off a piece of tape holding the wrapping together, making sure to capture it all on camera. “Can’t promise it’ll still be wrapped by the time you get here.”

“Don’t you dare,” Steve narrows his eyes, and then hangs up.

Bucky’s left there, stunned into silence, because _wow_ that was rude. But only a few minutes later Steve’s walking into the lab looking just like he did in the call, only now he’s wearing a shirt and his breath smells minty fresh.

“Watcha get?” Bucky asks, following him to the worktable and peering over his shoulder. He’s very nosey and he wants to know who had the privilege of getting Steve as their Secret Santa— he wants to know if he could’ve done a better job.

“Can you let me open it first?” Steve chuckles, carefully removing the tape and unwrapping the box and _really_ now is not the time to care about wrapping paper.

Tony comes into the lab just as Steve’s _finally_ done removing it, peering over the other side of his shoulders to get a look at the gift. There’s a reason he and Bucky work so well together.

Steve opens the box to reveal a leather-bound sketchbook and an array of charcoal pencils, all neatly arranged over a bed of beige crepe paper. There’s a small piece of cardstock that reads good wishes for the holiday season, signed by _Sharon_ with a small heart in the place of an _O_.

“Nice,” Tony whistles, looking over the art supplies. “She’s always had a crush on you, y’know.”

Steve blushes and averts his eyes from Bucky’s, because _yes_ he _does_ know but he doesn’t like to bring it up.

Bucky doesn’t feel a pang of jealousy make its way through his veins at the thought of _Sharon_ and how she knows Steve likes to draw. Not at all.

(After Steve leaves, Tony assures him that the blonde man doesn’t feel the same towards his admirer. Bucky breathes a little easier.)

 

Sam ends up over the moon with his present— a pair of binoculars with his initials engraved on the side. It wasn’t that expensive; thankfully Amazon’s spying on Bucky’s searches paid off for once.

Bucky mails it out on the second to last day and gets a personal visit from the man himself, who hugs him just a little bit too tight as a thank you. He convinces Tony to let Bucky go early, then takes him to the roof of the Tower to use them to birdwatch. It’s a lot more fun than it has any right to be.

 

On the last day of the exchange, Bucky’s present arrives just a few minutes before he’s about to leave for the night.

Rather, _Steve_ arrives with his present on the last day of the exchange and Bucky feels his heart in his throat. He should’ve seen it coming.

“Special delivery for one James Barnes,” Steve says, looking down at Bucky and handing him a red envelope. “His Secret Santa sends his apologies— they were sold out and he had to spend the last few days learning how to use Craigslist.”

He finds two tickets to a photography exhibit at the MoMa, one Bucky had his eyes on since they announced it, but for which tickets sold out just a few hours after they went on sale. He’d never mentioned it to Steve, which means this was all his idea.

Which means Bucky needs to learn how to give presents from him, desperately.

“Hm,” Bucky hums, looking up at Steve through his eyelashes. He feels bold, much like the day their not-date happened. “Would my Secret Santa care to join in on their wonderful gift?”

Steve just smiles.

 

  
A week later, Bucky’s walking through the MoMa with a courtesy cup of peppermint hot chocolate, instrumental Christmas music playing quietly through the speakers — this is a _museum_ , that shouldn’t be a _thing_ — and Steve’s hand warm in his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry that this took so long (and that it feels a bit rushed) but thank you for reading! I'll see you guys very soon. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](https://tropicalcap.tumblr.com/)!


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